


The Hotel Incident

by supervillainesses



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-17 12:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10593909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supervillainesses/pseuds/supervillainesses
Summary: Ivy has her hopes set on taking down a cosmetics conglomerate that makes a habit of poisoning the waters around their factories. Harley, accompanying her on this stakeout, has her hopes set on a warm bed and some TLC to nurse the sudden onset of a cold before things start going south.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This got saved as a draft somehow instead of posted, maybe because it's my worst one, imo. Really old, really cringey, but ends on a good fluffy note

            “Harley, that’s the tenth time you’ve sneezed in the past half-hour. I think you’re sick, sugar.”

            Harley blinked lazily at Pam. In the fading light of the streetlamps, it was evident that the clown’s eyes were red, puffy and unfocused. Harley coughed into the crook of her elbow, a billow of white breath drifted into the air. What had started off as a dry cough this morning had developed into _this_ , Pam thought as Harley stared into her with pitiful eyes.

            “Maybe an entirely spandex suit isn’t the smartest choice of outfit when you’re staking out on a snowy rooftop.” Pam suggested flatly, rolling her eyes at the red-and-black suit.

            Harley wore it well, and it suited her dancer’s shape, but the garish ensemble was designed to complement _him_. A strange part of Pam always felt elation and unnamed hunger whenever she saw the girl stripped of her crown regalia, like when she wore oversize sweaters in the morning, or jeans in a style that had been out of fashion for a few years (“They actually have _pockets_ , Red! I can’t give ’em up!).

            When they were alone, and Harley dressed in pastels or floral or plaid or wool or cotton, her greasepaint scrubbed away, revealing the pinked skin beneath…that was when Harley felt like her own person. That was when Harley wasn’t just a hasty smear of paint, created by a drunken maker’s brushstroke. It was also when Pam could stand her most.

            “We can’t all own our own wearable sleeping bags, Pammy.”

            Pam squinted at her. “It’s a _snowsuit_.”

            “Potato potato, tomato tomato.” Harley moved to playfully swat Pam’s arm, but fell into Pam upon losing balance.

            “We can go back, you know.” Pam put a hand on Harley’s shoulder; the girl was freezing. She frowned. “There will be other ethically corrupt eco-terrorists bent on ruining the world one forest at a time. I won’t be mad—well, not at you.”

            “Pfffffsh,” Harley waved a dismissive arm. “I’ll be peachy-keen, palomino.”

            Pam grimaced. “You did _not_ just call me a horse.”

            “No, but I totally did, weren’t you listening?”

            “We’re heading back. You need rest, warmth, and barley soup.”

            Now Harley made a face. “ _Barley?_ Can’t I have chicken fingers instead?”

            Pam narrowed her eyes.

            “ _Selina_ would let me have chicken fingers.” Harley mumbled.

            “Selina also joined you in mattress-surfing down the stairs at home.”

            “Man, that was fun. Where is she?”

            “Off gallivanting around, chasing Batman as usual, I presume.”

            Harley snickered. “Chasing the Bat-Booty—y’know, B-Man does have a nice butt under that cape.”

            “Oh yeah, definitely delusional. To bed.”

            “Nooooo-ooo-ooooo-ooo,” Harley’s teeth chattered, her nose running and smearing her makeup.

            Below, Ivy spied the black stretch car they had been waiting for. It pulled up to the hotel across the street. A grin spread across her face as Harley huddled against her for warmth.

            “Y’know, Harl, I think I know how to nurse you back to health in style. Get out of that costume.”

            “First off, it’s a _uniform_. Second off, I’m not getting naked on a roof, Red. I don’t care how much you want it; I’m not freezing my nips off fah no one.”

            “I mean change into your dress in the duffel bag, you dweeb.”

            “Oh, heheheh,” Harley’s breath was warm and feverish-sweet. “I guess that makes sense. Can nips really freeze off? More importantly, do they grow _back?_ ”

            “Asking the hard-hitting questions as always, sweet pea. Just change.”

* * *

 

            “Is my dress too short?” Harley asked, spinning around like a dog trying to catch its tail.

            Pam, applying her lipstick using a car’s hubcap to catch her reflection, lowered her brows.

            “Harley, you literally wear that dress all the time.”

            Pam stood, seeing that Harley’s lips were white from the cold, or perhaps whatever was ailing her. Frowning, she considered tossing the tube of lipstick to her, but instead chose a route that would at least make her girl a little happier, despite her condition. And warm up those usually peachy lips, too. She strode toward her, took her cold hand in hers, and kissed her pale lips, trembling with the suppression of chattering teeth. It wasn’t the first time she’d used Harley’s mouth to blot.

            Harley broke away with a gasp. “Yeah, but does it seem _shorter?_ Have I finally gotten taller? Selina’s gonna be so _mad_ to be the—”

            Deadpan, Ivy reached over and untucked the back of Harley’s dress from her polka-dot panties. She arched a brow.

            “Oh,” Harley laughed. “Much better.”

            Pam placed a hand to Harley’s forehead, unsurprised at the temperature, but unhappy all the same. “This is insane. You were running at a thousand-percent this morning, now it’s like you’ve come down with malaria in a matter of hours.”

            “Awwwwww! I don’t _want_ malaria!”

            Pam put her finger to Harley’s mouth. “Relax, Harl. I think it might be influenza.”

            “That’s what happened with the Spanish, right?”

            “Influenza, heightening your own natural bubbleheaded-ness. We’d better get you in bed before you’re a danger to yourself and others, little missy.”

            The bellhop of the hotel was young and hardly out of pubescence. Prime for the picking, in Pam’s opinion.

            “C-Can I help you, ladies?” He gulped, his large Adam’s apple bobbing.

            “My friend here had too much to drink,” Pam put on her most pitiable expression. “She lost her room key back at the bar; there were too many guys crowding around for us to get a good search for it. Can you let us in?”

            He straightened like a soldier. “Sorry, ma’am! No can-do. No key, no entry. Those are the rules.”

            Pam grimaced. Young and gullible, yes, but already straight-laced and by the books. Despicable. She was surprised he hadn’t donned some form of costume and interned under the Bats. A wink and a blown kiss, and he was all weak in the knees—with the aid of her favorite spores.

            “Holy botanical bullying, Batman!” Harley chuckled sleepily. “Those Robins are so presh.”

            The boy was practically on his knees, begging for her to so much as step on him. It was tempting, but the sooner she and Harley were away, the sooner she could get this fever down. They slunk inside; Harley appeared to be having trouble walking. Not as if she were losing her balance, but as if she had forgotten how to walk altogether.

            “Feeling kinda woozy,” Harley grumbled as Pam ducked underneath her and tucked an arm around her shoulder.

            “Keep it together, Harl. Just one elevator ride and we’ll be home free—until security finds us, eventually, but hopefully not tonight.”

            “Can you—can your spore action work on girls, Ives?”

            Pam blinked. “I suppose, yes, but they seldom oppose me. Men tend to be the oppressors opposite me. Why do you ask?”

            Harley mumbled and a distinct warm spot simultaneously developed on Pam’s shoulder. She couldn’t wait to heft Harley onto a bed, and off of her, especially now that she was drooling—

            “Harley, are you crying?”

            Pam received only a sniffle as answer. The small spark of annoyance died. She tightened her hold on Harley’s waist and nuzzled the crying blonde’s head with her cheek. She wasn’t very good at verbalizing herself, but she knew Harley understood how to-heart Ivy took the notion of actions speaking louder than words.

            “We’ll get you somewhere to rest, sweet pea. Calm down.”

            The elevator already had an occupant. The older woman was larger, and regarded them with an awful lot of disdain for carrying a woman carrying a dog in her purse like it was 2004. It growled at her, but whimpered when Pam got close—she had that effect on weaker things. She had likely concluded a story similar to what Ivy had told the bellhop, and saw she and Harley as party girls dirtying up an otherwise fancy venue that was so expensive solely to keep out the riffraff.

            Harley pressed herself to the elevator wall.

            “Red, I feel weird. Like that time Jervis sneaked all those weird brownies into Ozzy’s club, but _sicker_.”

            Pam stroked Harley’s back consolingly. “It’s gonna be all right, daffodil. It’s better than the stairs.”

            The old woman made a throaty noise of disgust.

            “Do you have a problem with the way I speak to my girl, meatbag?”

            Ohhh, that felt good. It had been a long time since she’d called a human being a sack of meat. She refrained from it for Harley’s sake; she claimed it upset her when Pam didn’t consider herself human. She was about to call her a “blood-mouth” when Harley spoke and began what would be the crowning stunt of the night.

            “I think I hear the dead,” her eyes were wide as a doll’s as she sank into a corner of the elevator. The lights flickered ever-so slightly. Pam trembled; this was so accidentally excellent. “Ya son!”

            Harley locked eyes with the woman. A fun trick people didn’t know Harley could do was roll her eyes far back enough so only the whites were visible. Pam was one of few privileged to the information; it startled her out of bed the first few times. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

            “Wha-what about my son?” The woman blubbered. Her dog was yelping.

            “He says ya weren’t ever proud of him. Quit gambling. Get a fucking dog. Shave ya head and move to Tibet. Send fifty cents a day to all those dogs needing homes so those sad Sarah Mclachlan commercials go away. _Give me twenty dollars!_ ”

            Evidently, the scream had kicked in Harley’s gag reflex. To crown the moment, the blond bent her head over and vomited onto the floor.

            Positively wailing, the woman frantically threw a handful of bills at Pam and ran as soon as the doors dinged open. Fifty bucks. Nice. She tiptoed around Harley’s mess, she knelt and stroked the blonde’s clean cheek.

            “Poor baby,” Pam cooed. “One more floor, sunshine. We’ll get ya cleaned up and in bed.”

            “ _Who’s_ bed?” Harley sobbed tearlessly.

            “Harley, I’m flattered, but you just threw up.”

            “Wasn’t flirting, Red. _Who’s_ bed? Where are we going?”

            “It’s a surprise.” Pam hefted Harley up, trading tear stains for vomit stains. She lamented her poor dress, pilfered thought it was, but at least she wouldn’t be wearing it much longer.

            It was smooth sailing until Pam rested her girl against a wall near their destination. Harley immediately assumed it was the room they sought and went off.

            “Open up, ya sonuva bitch!” She began hitting the door. “Filthy scum-chomping ass-monster!”

            “Harley! Calm, child.” Pam drew Harley back. “Why is it when something happens to you, whether it be a cold or a concussion, you act like you’re drunk or drugged out of your mind?”

            Harley lolled her head to the left, not so much kissing Pam as she just pressed her whole face to hers. Ugh, her breath was rank.

            “ _Ya_ drugged outta _ya_ mind, bub.”

            “You need a bed now.”

            “Pam, I’m siiick, this ain’t the time.”

            The room in question was occupied by a tubby man of middle age. He was half-dressed in an undershirt and dress slacks. In his hands were a bottle of champagne and a metal bucket for ice.

            “Richard Ghast, hi. My name is Poison Ivy—”

            “No it ain’t, Red.”

            “— _shut it_ , Harley. Anyway, Richard, can I call you Dick? Because that’s what I think you are. I’m here to talk about your factories poisoning the water supply at every location their stationed, and frankly we find these actions despicable.”

            Harley, now a lovely shade of green, grabbed the bucket from Ghast’s hand and vomited into it.

            “See? My friend is physically sickened by it, and in case you didn’t hear her from down the hall, we think you’re a—what was it, darling?”

            “Filthy scum-chomping ass-monster,” Harley spoke around the new awful tastes in her mouth.

            “Beautiful. Anyway, we’re gonna handle your transgressions at a later time. Tonight, we’re commandeering this room—the same way you commandeered that _land_ that wasn’t rightfully yours and besmirched it with the environmental equivalent of a shit-stain, but I digress.”

            “What in God’s name are you—?” Pam blasted him with her pet spores “—Dollies.”

            He fell with a heavy thud. Pam took the champagne bottle from his hand and helped Harley over his limp body, before kicking him into the room.

            On the bed was a woman much younger than Mr. Richard Ghast, barely twenty, if that. She was half-dressed, too, but judging by her underwear she wasn’t a hooker, just a sad girl. She stared at Harley and Ivy with fear, covering herself with blankets when Harley flopped face down onto the bed.

            Pam snatched Mr. Ghast’s wallet and tossed it to the brunette.

            “Sweetheart, you’re better than this,” she sat beside her, stroking her hair like she would Harley’s. She was feeling evangelical, still burning with righteous fury. Time to save a lost soul. “Let me guess, just started college? Almost through with college? He pays for everything? You feel financially secure with him? There’s more to life. You’re young.”

            “And slammin’ hot,” Harley added, her voice muffled by the mattress.

            “And slammin’ hot. Damn beautiful. Take this planet-molesting trash captain’s money and find yourself a good time. Or invest it somewhere. You’re free.”

            The brunette clutched the square of leather. “Thank you. Um, is your friend okay?”

            Harley, still face down, was entirely still. Pam waited until Harley hiccupped.

            “She’s fine.”

            Ghast’s ex-girlfriend showered while Pam rolled the large man into a closet that barely supported his size. For good measure, she bound his hands behind him with a necktie, and propped a chair under the door handle.

            “Time to get out of this dress…”

            Pam found Ghast’s suitcase and snagged a button-down shirt. It fit like a short dress, but aside from being dirty, the dress she had been wearing was darling, but it pinched just below the bra-line.

            Ghast’s ex-girlfriend left the bathroom with wet hair, now dressed in leggings and a sweater.

            “Are you sure she’s all right?” She asked with concern as she tugged on her boots and peacoat.

            “We know how to take care of each other. Live a good life, sweetheart.”

            “I heard you at the door. Are you actually Poison Ivy, or is this a prank? I’ve been hearing about you on the news since I was little—I just had my nineteenth birthday, so I’m not calling you old, honest.”

            “The point, dear!”

            She shrugged. “You don’t strike me as, um, evil?” She glanced pointedly at the hand soothingly sliding back and forth on Harley’s back.

            “I’m only bad to those who deserve it.”

            “Right, well. Have fun saving the trees, Captain Planet.”

            “Captain Planet!” Harley howled into the sheets as the girl left. Pam stopped stroking and swatted her rear. Instead of yelping, she mumbled.

            “What?” Pam leaned down. Harley repeated herself, but was still unintelligible. Pam rolled her over, and leaned again, brushing her long red hair behind her ear.

            “Can I have some water, please?”

            The tone was pitiful, even by Harley standards. At the sight of her rosy cheeks and glassy blue eyes, so piercing, the quick flare of anger was gone from Pam, and she began rounding up the things to make her girl well.

            Harley’s dress was now soaked with sweat, making the blonde shiver with every brush with the room’s ventilated air circulating the space. Pam pulled it off, a task made difficult by Harley’s giggling about being tickled. She changed her into another of Ghast’s shirts, an effort impeded by Harley’s attempts to kiss any part of Pam that got too near her face.

            After forcing her to take some aspirin, she took a washcloth from the bathroom closet and wet it. Harley accepted it with a groan of relief, and Pam settled in beside her. Harley instantly sought out Pam’s warm side like a blind newborn puppy might seek out its mother at mealtime.

            “I can’t believe you made that woman believe you were speaking to her dead son.”

            Harley was quiet. For a moment, Ivy thought she had fallen asleep, but then a new warm spot developed on her shirtsleeve.

            “Sweet pea, are you crying again?”

            “Y’know how I asked you about your spores?” Harley looked up at Pam, her eyes red and skin glistening, either from tears or her washcloth, Pam couldn’t be sure. Honestly, it was probably both. “D’ya…d’ya ever use them on me?”

            Pam, flabbergasted, drew backward so she could look at Harley better. Now that she could see more of her, she realized the blonde was positively miserable. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea, after all. Was her fever so high she needed more severe medical attention?

            “You’re talking nonsense again, Harley. Go to sleep.”

            “Nuh-uh! I stopped feeling crazy after I napped on the bed while that girl was showering. I’m asking you a serious question, Pam!”

            Pam, softening, drew in a breath. “No, I’ve never used my spores on you. Or my trademark lipstick. Why?”

            “Then,” Harley’s bottom lip trembled, “then this is all me, huh?”

            “What is?”

            “Even though I was all scrambled up and loopy, while you were carrying me around, and rubbing my back, and calling me _darling_ ,” Harley bit her lip, and buried her face in her hands. “I thought, _gee, this is really nice_. No one’s treated me so good since I was a kid, Red. No one’s made me lie down and rest up when I was sick since I lived with my parents.”

            Pam’s brows arched. That was a long time, especially for someone like Harley who needed someone to tell her to take a break in order to even consider it an option. She hazarded a question she knew she’d regret.

            “What did you do before, then? Before we…” She and Harley never had a term for what they were after “I and” transformed into a “we” when they spoke on each other. Lovers? Partners? Insufferably inseparable was a phrase Selina had thrown in once in a while, but while it was catchy it lacked reusability.

            “In college, my roommate would make me chicken soup when I stayed up too many nights in a row, cramming until I got sick. She called them ‘thinking sicknesses.’ I’d work so hard I’d either catch a cold, or get a fever or migraine. But that was it. A good gesture, but warm chicken water ain’t nothing like a hug and a kiss and a ‘I’ll stay with ya till ya get better.’ She had a boyfriend and a Law major to worry about. Didn’t blame her. She’s defended me on the stand a coupla times…she’s a good kid…”

            Pam could tell Harley was rambling now, to deflect the fact that Pam hadn’t been asking about college. She’d have to bring the subject up herself.

            “I meant _him_ ,” she didn’t like to refer to him by name. “Surely, you’ve gotten sick or hurt working for him before.” She also didn’t like using the term _with_ about him. Harley worked _with_ Pam. Lived _with_ Pam. Harley worked _for_ Joker. Lived _around_ Joker.

            “Oh,” Harley chuckled dryly. “That’s easy. He’d tell me to get back to work. So I did. Once, I busted up my arm _real bad_ trying to make an escape from a robbery. P— _Joker_ wouldn’t even let me ask to get a cast. He said I should prove I was still good to keep, so I did. Luckily, old Batsy accidentally grabbed me by that arm, and next I knew I was at the hospital, getting stitches and all fussed over. He even bought me dinner—well, okay, it was a smoothie and tots from the food court, and a Robin got it, but it’s the thought that counts.”

            “You’re telling me,” Ivy spoke through her teeth, “that _Batman_ was more of a boyfriend to you than _he_ was, and you still stuck around? Where was I when this happened? I would have wrung that pencil-necked, purple suit-wearing louse for what he did to you.”

            Harley, wide-eyed, grabbed onto Pam’s arm. “Ya were out on some tropical getaway, Red! I didn’t tell ya when ya came back, because…”

            “Because _why?_ ”

            Harley tucked her head down. “Because I was real confused about why I _cared_ so much about what you thought about what happened with me and him. Soon as it happened, I thought, _oh shit, Red is gonna be so pissed_ , and I got all embarrassed. And then I got embarrassed about being embarrassed. And by the time you got back, I’d convinced myself not to tell ya, especially ’cause you were in such a good mood from being around all those plants. It was _really confusing_ , Red. And now it’s happening again, because you’re telling me I’ve never been spored before!”

            Pam looked down at Harley’s cheeks, so red, her eyes squinted and obscured by unshed tears. Perhaps, maybe not putting a label on _what_ they were had not been the best of plans.

            “You were confused?” Pam asked quietly. Harley nodded. “Are you still confused?”

            Harley shook her head. “I think I understand now, honest. I know what you’re doing, Red. You don’t have to keep going. I don’t need it in words. Never have before.”

            In _all that time_ together, Joker had never even said the words without sincerity, to at least get his way? The thought made Pam sick; how was she much better? She knew how she felt about Harley, but did Harley even know how to identify that feeling? Going so long without being told someone felt that way about you…

            “Do you love me, Harley?”

            Harley, gingerly, nodded against Pam’s arm.

            “Do you know I love you, too?”

            After a long second, Harley again nodded her head.

            “Okay,” Pam tried to hide the fact that she was ready to pant like she’d just finished a marathon. Her heart beat so fast she was sure Harley could feel it, too. She’d braved toxic plants and even the occasional big cat out in the densest, untouched forests the world had to offer. Telling Harley Quinn she _loved her_ was more terrifying than staring down a jaguar in the face. “Just so we’re clear.”

            “Red?”

            “Yeah?”

            “I love you.”

            “I know, Harl.”

            “I love you.”

            “…Yeah, I know?”

            “I _love_ you.”

            “Are you going to keep repeating it until it sounds annoying? Because we’re getting there.”

            “No, Red,” Harley shook her head. “I _love_ you.”

            Pam slapped a palm to her forehead. “You mean you only _now_ just realized it? After saying it seven times?”

            “ _Three_ , thanks.” Harley huffed. “You aren’t being very sweet right now, my red velvet cupcake.”

            Pam was mortified. “ _That’s_ the actual reason for my nickname? Not just because of my hair? What’s with you and food nicknames?”

            Harley shrugged. “I had a fat freshman year.”

            “You lie.”

            “Nah, I’m serial. I gained like twenty pounds by the end of the first semester of college, before all my ‘no eating until this paper is done’ and ‘Ha ha, why study when you can forget ya problems doing fancy gymnastics at the gym?’ kicked in.”

            Pam chewed the inside of her cheek. “I bet you were still cute.”

            “I’ll dig up some old photos when we get back in a coupla days. How long d’you think that guy will be able to stay in that closet?”

            “I’m going to let it sweat it out in there for at least a day.”

            “You’re _evil_ ,” Harley grinned.

            Pam smiled back. “It’s like I’ve been saying: Only to those that deserve it.”

            “Oh,” Harley waggled her brows. “Don’t _I_ deserve it? Eh? Eh, eh?”

            “Sure,” Pam smiled brightly. “After you’re better.”

            “ _Reeeed!_ ”


End file.
